


Here

by ergo_existence



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: M/M, post-episode 14
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-19
Updated: 2014-08-19
Packaged: 2018-02-13 19:52:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2163093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ergo_existence/pseuds/ergo_existence
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was not dead yet, not exactly—<br/>parts of him were dead already, certainly other parts were still only waiting<br/>for something to happen, something grand, but it isn't<br/>always about me</p><p>
Richard Siken</p>
            </blockquote>





	Here

**Author's Note:**

> a short muse. Comments are appreciated, absolutely!

There are thoughts reverberating in Tucker’s head: Church’s identity, the importance of Wash, the goal of all his subsequent missions leading up to _now._ Betrayal and deceit and everything Tucker _loathed_ , because at least Wyoming gloated about his intent the entire way.

That’s maybe why Tucker’s a bit lost right now, with the ‘Tucker’ he heard before he lost it at Church. Or maybe the stiff body language from Wash. Like Tucker’s not who he used to be.

He isn’t though, is he – no, no, that’s a lie. Of course he’s _himself,_ through and through. That’s why he’s still _alive,_ damn it. It’s Church who isn’t the same. He’s more of Epsilon (“Made of numbers,”) by the second, more analytical and nothing of the Leonard Church he might have been able to say was his best friend. By whatever means they had then.

So it’s not his fault he tried to save somebody human – somebody like Wash – when he had no reason to count on Church’s impatient insistence; he saw the way those space pirates were advancing, their steady prowl sure of their what their goal was. If there’s one thing Tucker learnt with the Rebels, it’s that necessary sacrifices have to be made (the only thing Felix was right about); he can’t stand the names of Cunningham and Rogers over _his_ name, but if that one impulsive act _saved_ a life (or two, counting Caboose), surely it will steadily clear his own mind for the lost privates?

In the months (whatever time it has been) Church has been away, he’s become something else. It’s _what_ that perturbs Tucker; Church has never completely or always trusted the Reds and Blues, but he’s at least cared. And as far as Tucker knows, he’s not sure if that sentiment has stayed the same.

“Tucker.”

There’s that call again. Wash can’t seem to say his name _enough,_ like if he calls ‘Tucker’ or lets 'Lavernius' roll off his tongue like a wicked chorale, drip like treacle, he might make Tucker listen. It’s not worked yet.

He cranes his neck over. There’s a moment of quiet in between Carolina being attended to by Dr. Grey, having shooed them all off, and Epsilon muttering to himself. Tucker hears cracks of conversation leaking, his name dropped at times along with _Bravo_. He swallows. It’s nothing compared to the botched mission with Felix. Two died then. Two others lived now. _Different._

Wash comes toward him and there is a momentary relief of realising _Wash’s back_ again, that feeling not quite old yet. It didn’t matter the timeframe he was gone. The idea he was in danger because of some idiotic sacrifice makes his insides churn.

“Wash.”

“I don’t think there’s much I can say,” he begins, and Tucker’s somewhat surprised, expecting a lecture about _completing missions_ and _doing what you’re told_. Whatever. “Except for I know you had the right intent, Tucker.”

So he’s speechless for a brief moment. Tucker wants him _yelling_. Well, he wants him yelling because if he’s yelling, then Tucker’s sure it’s Wash really here. Really breathing. _Okay._ Fine.

“Thought you were going to, I don’t know, scream at me or something,” Tucker eventually replies, adjusting himself in the small spot he’s taken for himself in the caves. The Reds had claimed the other end, swarming like a hive together, although Caboose was with them as well. Nothing was normal anymore.

He puckers his lips at the thought. But there was no one left to fault, nobody living that could saddle the blame. As far as Carolina told them, the Director was dead.

“I think you’re already beating yourself up about it.”

Wash knows him better than Tucker assumed.

“Yeah.” He sits down on the damp ground, actually _stopping_ for the first moment in what feels like forever. From leaving the Rebel base, to the Federals to here, he’s not yet breathed properly.

And then Wash joins him, and everything truly is unreal.

“But we’ll sort things out,” Wash continues filling the silence, “At least the Reds found the manifesto. Between their usual banter, I didn’t expect that, if we’re talking about assumptions.” There’s a sharp chuckle – if Tucker zoned out he’d have missed it – and things actually might be all right. It’s comforting in a small way Tucker can’t pinpoint.

“Grif didn’t do too bad trying to break you guys out. He volunteered before Caboose or Simmons to come,” Tucker manages, finding it easier to think of the little moments of triumph they’ve had so far. Or the dumb luck, depending on whose perspective it was. “He even ran at one point.”

“Is that a record?” Wash reaches up to release his helmet, and Tucker lets out a small sigh of relief because he’s not bruised and broken, shadows under his eyes present but they were always there, no matter how much sleep he had. Though he knew about the nightmares, and that brings a fresh roll of concern for Tucker ( _how he coped at the Federals without Tucker to come wake him up _from the dreams__ ) – then he’s wondering where all of these instincts to care for Wash came from. It’s not like he cared about Simmons and his anxious behaviour. He jumps off that train of thought before it becomes too deep, too raw.

“I’d say so, dude never has done much. Yet he keeps fuckin’ living, so go ask him how he does it,” Tucker says between a nervous laugh, still unsure of what he _could_ say to Wash and what he _can_.

“Well, I’m sure it must be the arsenal he’s had. Between Meta’s weapon and that alien tech, he must be just fine.”

Tucker follows suit and rips off his own helmet, throwing it deliberately on the ground as hard as possible, hoping to counter out a reaction from Wash. He does, and he’s satisfied with the knowing glare from Wash. He feels a bit better.

He _needs_ that exasperation.

“You should be more careful with your equipment. I would have thought you’d know that by now, Tucker,” Wash chastises, and it’s like medicine to Tucker, swirling down his throat and into his stomach, a sense of solace he’s needed since the stupid as shit choice Wash made to be separated from him.

Though he’s sure there’s some sort of logical reasoning from Wash, about how the odds were better, or something that Tucker doesn’t really care about because he thinks sleepless nights weren’t worth it.

So he tells Wash about Cunningham and Rogers. He’s not sure why, right then (perhaps it comes to him another day), brushes it off as another way of pushing Wash to the edge with annoying decisions of Tucker’s. There’s surprise written on Tucker’s face again, because instead of a terse reaction he’s met with a hand on his shoulder and, “It was a risk. But…I understand. I do. More than you know.”

“We thought you were held in prison,” Tucker says, like he needs to keep justifying himself, “Or something mad like that. Getting tortured. I had to do it. Besides, it pissed off Felix for a while. I bet now he regrets me getting that information.”

“Think about it, though,” Wash muses, a half-smile present, “I told you, you just needed to try. And that’s all I want of you.”

Tucker rolls his eyes for good measure, easily slipping back into humouring Wash. “Don’t say that like you’re right _all_ the time.”

“I usually am. That’s a percentage in my favour.” So he shoves Wash’s shoulder, and suddenly things feel a bit lighter. All right.

“Maybe I should send you back with the Feds, tell them your big head got the best of you.”

“Do that, Tucker, and you’ll have to come bust me out again.” And there he goes and startles Tucker, an almost joking tone to his voice. Tucker grins lazily, leaning back on his arm.

“Still kinda fucked up, though,” Tucker drops his voice low, not happy about being the fault of Carolina’s leg or—or fucking up the information they needed, and he’s dropping back into the guilt he hates and is unfamiliar with; never used to taking the blame for something.

“We all make mistakes. You know that. You should know _now_ that Epsilon—Church, he’s more AI than he is human,” Wash says, calming, yet it’s the same straight accent Wash always has. “The Church you knew – he didn’t realise he was an AI. Now he’s Epsilon, and as far as I know, has access to all the fragments of AI. I think you can guess what that means.”

“He’s kind of…complete?”

“In a way.” Wash adjusts his position, then sighs. “He only has memories of the fragments. That means several things can occur in the future. Right now he has the abilities of the AI’s – he could probably shoot properly with a sniper rifle, actually.”

Tucker laughs quietly, leaping onto the hint of humour in Wash. “Thanks for explaining, I guess. So he’s not really Church anymore? Like just a computer dude?”

“I would say he’s still Church, with the way he’s been behaving. He’s concerned now, and I think he doesn’t anticipate to fit in anymore.” Wash faces Tucker again, mouth in a straight line. “I’m not the best leader. I don’t see how—”

“Stop right there,” Tucker interrupts. “Let’s just this in line for just a sec, Wash. I lead some idiot Lieutenants into organising a plan to break you out. I say, fuck it, I’ll drag the others with me and leave behind some poor kids who’ll probably die. We _drive_ for fucking _hours,_ I get a numb ass, and we find you and the others safe and sound. And that makes us feel better than anything that had happened in the previous 24 hours.” He takes a breath. “Tell me I don’t want you as a leader, or at least here with us.”

It’s quickly morphed into assuaging Wash’s concerns, and then there’s a new idea that occurs to Tucker: they need each other now more than they did before. And it’s a strange concept, relying on somebody else – a strange idea, despite the co-dependency of the Reds and Blues. Nothing quite so intense as this.

Wash has a strange look, something Tucker guesses has been under his helmet a few times, and then Wash has a proper smile on his face (not done in half) and Tucker has to smile too.

“Thank you.”

He strains to think of a smart comeback, like _don’t get so emotional_ , or _it’s nothing, you fucker,_ or something, _something_ , but he all he can do is just scoot closer, sniff his nose in an attempt to be nonchalant about it. The telling expression on Wash’s face tells him it’s not.

“Guess you’re stuck with us.”

“I suppose I am. It seems we all got back somebody we wanted,” Wash replies, eyes flicking to Tucker's - a steely grey, a shade Tucker hasn't encountered, he knows that - then looks in the direction of Caboose as he says it. “Think he’ll be happy?”

“Better than he was back at the crash site,” Tucker says with a sigh at the end. “I mean, Caboose is _Caboose_ , but it was kinda distressing watching him become so depressed.”

Wash doesn’t say anything for a minute or so. Then: “I meant it when I thanked you. I haven’t had a proper team – I mean, you’re the first person to come and try and save me.” He scrunches up his nose, and Tucker smiles slightly again when he notices there are no extra scars on his face.

But then he asks, “What do you mean first to save you?”

“Nobody came back for me in Freelancer, after it collapsed.” Wash shifts uncomfortably, like he just said something completely off limits.

“Oh.” Because Tucker isn’t good with these things. “Always a first, huh?”

This at least seems to clear the air for a moment, when Wash says, “I suppose so.”

He’s sure Carolina’s going to bite his ear off later for the incident and Church is still going to be pissed because he’s in such a mood not even Tex would be able to pull him out of. But he’d take this over risking Wash’s life (because he’s not having more blood to his name, no way) and—

“Hey, Wash, when Carolina’s a bitch to me once her leg’s fixed, would you, you know, stand up for me? Like the last time. With the gun.”

Tucker feasts on the smirk, cataloguing it along with all of Wash’s expressions, and Wash replies so: “Maybe.”

He’ll bet on his maybes.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading.


End file.
